


My Fears Remind Me of You

by a_bowl_of_peaches



Category: The Property of Hate
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Light Entertainment, M/M, Rain, Storms, followed by, hydrophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bowl_of_peaches/pseuds/a_bowl_of_peaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's no secret that RGB fears water, but it takes Magnus a while to notice. As soon as he does, he wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enlightenment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sohanna-the-Doorstop](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sohanna-the-Doorstop).



         The day is cloudy with the promise of rain, the blue sky having faded into grey long ago. The air, crisp and pleasant, hums around the walls and edges of the sanctuary like a sigh, though neither the one who resides there nor his frequent visitor feel it, ensconced as they are in the library. Inside, it is cool but dry, illuminated by a tall window and a number of soft lights. The far-off murmur of thunder breaks the peace of the room. As one, the two glance up. One is mildly curious about the changing weather, wondering whether his birds have safely roosted. The other drags his gaze back down to his book, a shudder rolling down his nonexistent spine. It prompts the other to turn to him, observing quietly, and sparks a sudden realization.

         Magnus lowers his book, story forgotten, to observe his companion. RGB, if he is aware of being watched, gives no indication of it. He bends over the table, telly propped on a fist, the other hand pressed lightly to the pages of the book spread before him. To the untrained eye, he is engrossed in his reading, undisturbed by the darkening outside and the distant grumble of towering clouds.

         But Magnus is well versed in the ways of RGB. He finds the tension spread across sturdy shoulders, notes the kinks in one of his antennae. They’re concentrated near his headboard, a clear sign of distress. When the thunder rumbles louder, closer than before, the signal bar across the bottom of his screen distorts in a rippling twitch before pressing flat and thin, like pursed lips. The yellow ink drips with more urgency than normal.

         Magnus closes his book with a brisk snap; the other monster doesn’t react. Normally, it would have drawn a comment of some sort or at least prompted movement, but now, it incites nothing. RGB’s attention is riveted elsewhere.

         “Something troubles you, dear one?” The telly-head starts, glancing up. His focus shifts, falling halfway between the magician and the window.

         “And why would you assume such a thing?” he returns, avoiding the question entirely. Magnus hums and steeples his fingers, elbows propped on the table. RGB tips his chair back on two legs, stretching his arms above his head before letting them dangle at his sides.

         “You appear… ill at ease.”

         “Really?” He makes a convincing attempt at amusement and slouches further with something like a smirk. “How so?” Smoke is easier to pin down when compared to him, who believes he can evade anything and has yet to be proven wrong. Magnus sighs.

         “RGB, please.” The other monster seems to blink, feigning innocence.

         “What?”

         The magician is saved from continuing their volley by the first few drops of rain that showers the tall windows of the library. For a moment, he is captivated by the way the beads of water trickle down the smooth surface, casting points of white across the floor when the weak light shines through them. In minutes, they will grow thicker, pelting his sanctuary, joined by the tangle of lightning and the heavy drum of thunder.

         He is distracted from his reverie by the sound of RGB pushing his chair back, standing ramrod straight. He stares as if the rain is acid, ready to sink through the glass and pour into the unprotected room. His shoulders hunch, rigid with displeasure, and the hands folded atop his cane tremble. A sound like a breath escapes Magnus, an audible realization.

         How has he never noticed before?

         “Well.” RGB claps his hands, grin affected. His distress vanishes, or rather stashes itself elsewhere, hidden from wondering gazes. “I don’t know about you, but I fancy some tea during this horrendous weather. I’ll bring you some.”

         “…All right.” Magus needs time to process this new tidbit of information anyway. He watches his partner stride out of the room and listens to the rapping of his cane against the floor, harsher and louder than usual. The magician listens until he has to strain for the tapping and gets up when he can’t hear it at all, forsaking the library in favor of the kitchen. Kitchen in the sense that it houses a collection of dishware and tea canisters and contains a stove, oven, and sink. The memories of actually eating are constantly fading and to pursue what remains of them is exhausting.

         He shakes the thoughts away, arriving at the open doorway of the kitchen. It’s dimmer than usual, and his gaze drawn to the curtains over the sink. They are tied shut with a neat bow, blocking the view to the outside. RGB is marginally calmer here, focused on measuring out loose tea leaves into a tall, floral teapot they’re both fond of. The telly-head doesn’t notice him, humming some half-remembered tune to himself as he lifts the whistling kettle from the stove. The magician moves closer and clears his throat, pausing when his partner jolts at the quiet noise, almost upsetting the teapot. RGB jumpier than usual, a rarity in his presence, and it stings deep in Magnus’s chest, a quick pang of something he can’t quite name.

         “Impatient, are we?” RGB teases, moving passed his little slip. He pours a little of the hot water into the cups, leaving it in to warm the cool ceramic. Magnus notes how careful he is to not let a single drop touch any part of him, and debates whether it is because the water is hot or because it is water. “It’ll take a moment for the tea to steep, but-”

         “You’re afraid.”

         Silence. Magnus folds his hands behind his back, waiting for a reaction. RGB only stares at him over one shoulder, kettle poised over the teapot. He sets it down and turns to lean against the counter, antennae straight and perked like ears. One kinks near the middle, bent at angles so jagged they almost look painful.

         “…What?”

         “Of the rain,” he expounds.

         “I _beg_ your pardon?” If Magnus didn’t know any better, RGB would sound offended, but he did know better. He’s irritated with himself, irritated his performance has been weak enough to see through. The magician detects a strain of embarrassment and resolves to wipe it away. In his determination, he brushes aside the potential consequences, giddy instead at the potential results.

         “Come with me.” Without waiting for a reply, he surges closer and catches RGB’s wrist, dragging him out of the kitchen, into the hall. The other monster has to jog to keep up, sputtering protests the whole while, throwing the occasional comment because _not all of them can fly,_ thank _you_. Magnus slows but only so he can lead them up a narrow staircase, spiraling its way up to the roof. Impatient, he lifts RGB through a trapdoor and sets him on the ground. The door falls shut, invisible once more.

         “Magnus, if this is some sort of prank, it _isn’t. Funny.”_ RGB paces a tight circle, searching for the seams. The signal line jumps halfway up his screen, warping, the yellow and red ink streaming down his casing. The colors drip to the ground, mixing into little spatters of unhappy orange.

         “I’m not pranking you, dear one,” Magnus promises. His feet find the ground as he allows gravity to fold him back into its embrace. The infrequent raindrops swell in number; the cloudburst is reaching its peak. “I am only asking you to trust me.” Which is something of a joke- RGB didn’t trust _himself_ , let alone anyone else.

         “Mag _nus_ ,” RGB frets, the whine of white noise breaking his name in two. The magician hushes him, shucking the greatcoat from his shoulders. He ignores the resulting chill, fitting his hands in the collar and ducking under it, lifting it to his partner. RGB needs no encouragement to take shelter, wrapping his arms around himself. It’s more to stave off his own fear than the cold, though he’d never admit it. Magnus dips his head to touch his front most edge to the top of RGB’s screen, his best attempt at a kiss to the forehead as the rain thickens. Glass rattles against glass as the smaller monster continues to tremble. The water beats at their back, rolling down the fabric without soaking it.

         “Why is this necessary?” RGB demands. He’s too distraught to muster anything beyond irritation, too focused on not letting his shaking consume his entire body. Magnus’s resolve threatens to crumble at his partner’s misery, regret creeping over him.

         “I want to help you.”

         “You call _this_ helping?” RGB snaps, only to quail when the downpour thickens. He bows his head, antennae sagging, shoulders creeping up to the edge of his casing. Magnus curves his coat around them more and says nothing for a long moment.

         “Why does the rain frighten you, my dear?” he chances. RGB crackles a bout of static, sharp with annoyance and hissing with dismay.

         “Because it just _does,”_ he grumbles, lifting his head to gaze at the magician with not-quite a glare, cyan dribbling down his case. The thought that it causes him _pain_ flits across Magnus’s mind like a fleeing bird. But no, if it hurt RGB, he would have fallen silent, masking his pain instead of revealing it. Instead, he is muttering obscenities about the weather. Magnus debates if it is emotional agony then, and snips the thought in half before it can continue.

         First things first.

         “Think of it this way, RGB,” he coaxes, lifting the coat higher so they can see the grey sky. The other monster tucks closer to his side, away from the downpour. “What happens after it rains?”

         “Everything is _wet,”_ the telly-head sulks, scowling in a downward bend of color. Magnus smiles a bit, reminded of a fussy kitten.

         “Yes, but what else?” he prods. RGB doesn’t answer, shifting his gaze from the clouds to the prism-head in clear askance. Again, Magnus touches his edge to his screen. “A rainbow. The water acts as tiny prisms to reflect the light, as I do.” He smiles in evidence. RGB’s frown melts in response, fading into a warmer expression meant for Magnus and Magnus alone. “So maybe, when it rains…” He shrugs a little. “Think about me instead of your fear.”

         “Hmm…” RGB’s gaze lifts, bent antennae lifting a few inches. “Now there’s a concept,” he muses to himself, sounding pleased at the thought. The magician smiles wider, sensing impending victory.

         “I want to help you,” he repeats, lowering the coat. The telly-head starts, stilling when the fabric wraps around him, collar draped over his head. The rain darkens Magnus’s crisp white shirt and seeps into his vest, but he’s more concerned with arranging the fabric around RGB, making sure he is properly sheltered. He steps behind the smaller monster, twining his arms around his shoulders, resting his prism against his head. “Will you let me?” He nuzzles the spot where RGB’s vents lay under his makeshift hood. “Please?”

         The older monster doesn’t respond, turning his head toward the lapels near his face, a faint smile on his colorful mouth. Finally, he sighs.

         “…I suppose it is a childish fear,” he confesses. “I cannot go running every time I hear rain. Though I should very much like to,” he grumbles under his breath. He sighs again, resigned, deeply affectionate. “All right, dear one. I’ll give it a try. But!” he continues, seeing Magnus’s blinding grin. “I have my limits, and I daresay I have reached this one.”

         “Of course, dear one, of course.” Pleased with his success, the magician waves a hand at the roof, the trapdoor opening. He ushers his partner toward it, all but begging for the weather to continue its temperamental rainy kick. He has plans, many of them, and can’t wait to put them into play. “I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.” RGB laughs, smirking as they return to the safety of indoors.

         “When you put it like that, it sounds like something else entirely,” he teases, shrugging the greatcoat from his shoulders and folding it over his arm. “Perhaps it could suffice as a reward?” he tempts. The beam of Magnus’s smile focuses into something sharper, and he draws his partner into his arms, rubbing the last few kinks out of his antennae. The thunder rumbles over their head, snapping RGB from his seduction as he flinches against the magician’s chest, clutching at the back of his vest. The playful touches turn soothing as thin metal pinches once more. “Perhaps… _after_ the rain, dear one?”

         “I will hold you through it,” Magnus promises, leading them deeper into the sanctuary. He rubs his thumb over the hard mountains of his partner's tight knuckles. “Remember what I told you, dearest.”

         “Yes….” RGB’s vice-like grip on his hand eases, a measure of wonder in his voice. Magnus cannot stop from smiling yet again. “Rainbows.”


	2. Illuminate

         “RGB.” Magnus props himself on an elbow and lifts a finger to trace the edges of his partner’s screen. Each movement is deliberately careful--RGB sleeps lighter than a feather and to wake him gently requires a certain level of finesse. The magician’s touch roams higher, circling the base of his antennae. Too hard, he risks tickling him. Too gentle, it mimics the whisper of an immediate Threat stalking the air around him. “RGB, my dear… You must wake.”

         “…mmm.” The white noise falters under a low hum, breaking as it forms a voice. RGB rolls from side to stomach, shuffling his forearms under his pillow. He digs his toes into the mattress, ankles popping, and turns a drowsy gaze on the magician, antennae cocked.

         “Hello, my dear one.” The bend of color, newly revealed, drips beads of magenta.

         “Magnus,” the telly-head’s rasps, voice thickened by static. He leans up and in for a sleepy nuzzle. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

         “Listen,” he urges, still circling his fingers over RGB’s casing. The antennae tilt to one side like a bending flower, loose in their curve. Magnus delights in his partner’s tranquility, in knowing that the anxiety-riddled monster is peaceful in his presence.

         Of course, it crumbles before his eyes, and quelling the rise of guilt in his chest is impossible as RGB’s wires snap rigid then pinch in on themselves, throwing out his arm to fling the covers back so he can lunge upright at the quiet roar of the pouring rain.

         “No, no, no,” he soothes, draping his longer form over the broader monster, arms and legs forming a cage of sorts. RGB stiffens, the tense bridge of his body poised to flee beneath him. “It’s all right, my dear.”

         “Rather aggressive about my little problem, aren’t you, Magnus?” The bite of his voice slashes through lingering sleep, hacking through the peaceful calm of the darkness. “Can’t even let me sleep through the night, can you?” Reproach colors his voice in shades of disappointment, shadowed by irritation. Fear creeps just behind the other two, half-hidden, though RGB cannot hide the way he trembles.

         “There is method to my madness,” the magician promises, rubbing firm circles into the muscles of his back. RGB twitches away from him and turns his head to glare with more razor-focus than a television should achieve, dripping yellow and red and smearing orange across the pillows. Magnus doesn’t allow the look to deter him. “Trust me, my love.”

         “You are making that particular task _exceedingly_ difficult,” RGB grits, but it speaks wonders that he hasn’t thrown the slighter monster off him, a feat he could easily manage. The magician eases onto his partner’s back, letting his own weight press the other down. The telly-head grumbles but settles, trapped beneath him; the trembles reverberate from his core, kept in tight check lest they become too obvious.

         “Let me lighten the load then.”

         _“Hmph.”_ Magnus taps the side of his casing with an edge. “You certainly have a funny way of doing so.”

         “Remember my suggestion.”

         “Hmph.” Not as forceful, more resigned. “At least you’re better than a coat,” he comments at half-volume, like he isn’t sure he wants the magician to hear. He does, of course, and it draws his attention to the motions of his breath against RGB’s back, the match of their hips and the parallel lines of their legs. In another life, such a position would have resulted in a much different outcome than easing his love’s fear, but, for now, he focuses on the rain and the gradual diminishing of the shaking.

         Stark light flashes through the clear window. RGB coils like a spring and flinches with his whole body at the reverberation of thunder and the resulting tumult of rain. Magnus doesn’t move, a guardian statue over him, save to slide a hand between his chest and the mattress to cup his silent heart.

         “I feel like a fool.” The magician flickers in surprise at the mumbled confession, leaning away to peer down at the smaller monster. The color line warps back and forth across a clear screen, like grinding teeth.

         “You aren’t a fool. So far from it,” he promises. “It is more foolish _not_ to fear.”

         “Such a thing becomes meaningless when fear is a constant state of being,” RGB intoned. More lightning, another tightening ended by a full-body cringe. His vents wheeze softly, his casing heating with an internal exertion. The shoulders hunched under the magician will ache in the morning if they continue to strain.

         Time for a change.

         “Roll over,” Magnus orders, straightening his elbows to hover over his partner, giving him room to maneuver. RGB pauses at the request, then does as he is bid, lying on his back. His legs fall open to accommodate the magician between them, strong thighs resting on either side of slim hips. The intimacy of their pose isn’t lost on either.

         “Planning on starting something?” RGB mocks, antennae like a raised eyebrow. Magnus ignores his residual anger and chuckles, lifting a hand to the metal wires. He follows them to their base and back, over the soft blowing of warm vents. He caresses the slits with his fingertips, his touch brief and light. On occasion, he’s found smears of black clinging to the plastic, crumbling like dried ink, but he doesn’t search for them now. Instead, he crosses over to trace the dials, careful not to flip them. His hand continues toward to a loose color and an undone bowtie, massage an invisible throat, mapping collarbones and a lean chest under a rumpled shirt.

         If his love associates rain with negativity, he needs only to replace it with positivity.

         “You’re doing well. Better than last time,” Magnus praises, running a palm down his sternum. The telly-head melts, screen dim and content.

         “Let’s not push it, dearest,” the older monster chuckles. He remains pliable and calm in the magician’s capable hands, letting the other touch him as he pleased.

         “I daresay you’re rather brave,” Magnus continues. RGB’s toes curl and flex near his calf, kneading at the blankets like a cat.

         “There’s a difference between lies and flattery,” he warns with fondness, resting his right hand on the magician’s braced arm. His fingers shake, squeezing when the tempo of the rain increases. Magnus watches him for a long moment, tracing a line along one side of his torso then the other. He repeats the action, and light blooms in the air between them, hued with white and molten silver, like starlight and moonbeams.

         He weaves the shimmering bands around RGB from head to toe in arbitrary loops and rings. Around the bends of his knees, his fine wrists, corkscrewing around his antennae. All the while, his hand continues its exploration, pressed to the dip where his ribcage ends and his midriff begins.

         “You’re spoiling me,” RGB accuses, no small amount of affection in his tone as he lifts his hand from arm to prism. The muscles of his stomach jump a bit as the wind changes directions outside, the rain hammering the window, only to be pet into relaxation.

         “No, no,” Magnus disagrees, and if he spends a half-second more tying a thread of golden light around the telly-head’s left hand, circling a certain finger, well. It’s because the rhythm of even breaths under his palm had distracted him. “Just reminding you of other things.”

         “Other things indeed,” RGB hums, hooking his left arm around the magician’s waist, splaying his adorned hand over his back. The significance hasn’t slipped his noticed, though he’ll save addressing it for a later date. Magnus can’t help but grin, a rainbow illuminating the room. RGB follows the light with a languid gaze, stroking his partner idly before pressing on his side, urging him to lie down. “I’m tired.”

         “Will you be able to see?” Magnus asks, dispersing his brightness and coaxing the room into darkness once more. If his love can’t find easy rest, he has no qualms with staying awake with him through the rest of the night, or at least until the rain eases; whichever comes sooner.

         RGB answers with a yawn, arching in a shallow bow to stretch his back, his heels sliding along the blankets. He rolls onto his stomach and slinks over his partner to claim the magician’s chest as his new mattress, the rock of his hips equal parts drowsy and playful as he nestles into the curves of Magnus’s body. His screen dims, edged with static like eyes half-closed, antennae drooping.

         “What are you thinking about, my dear?” Magnus whispers in the quiet, desiring to know as he draws the covers around them. RGB stirs, just enough to grin at the magician, sweet and coy and sleepy.

         “Why, dear one, I’m thinking about the way you smile.”

 

* * *

 

         “Three bulbs of light.” Madras names her price with nothing more than a blink, and that’s only to clear a syrupy tear from her fuchsia eye. Magnus nods, five dreams and two nightmares set out on the counter. The House of Paint is empty, save for the merchant, her customer, and RGB, who elected to stay deeper in the main room, waiting for they two to complete their business.

         “Am I mistaken or have you increased your prices?” he comments, accepting the first droplet-shaped flask. He rolls his wrist, unfurling his fingers and concentrating light between them and spiraling it into the container. Unlike when RGB expended color, the task doesn’t drain him, which is part of the reason he hasn’t allowed his love to make any purchases alone for some time (the other part might be a flare of jealousy when Madras’s hands linger too long on the telly-head). It merely consumes time.

         “I have,” Madras admits, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. “I’m finding my well of customers is drying rather rapidly, for whatever reason.”

         “Is that so?” He makes no further inquiries, concentrating on weaving quality luminescence, the flask halfway full. The merchant watches him through a half-closed eye, another tear sliding down her cheek.

         Outside, the sky greys without either of them noticing, focused on their transaction. It isn’t until the shelves tinkle with glass and the walls echo with the patter of water that they look up. Magnus corks a flask, his fingers hover over the second before falling to the counter. He glances over his shoulder, debating silently. Three weeks have passed since the last storm, eleven days since the last bout of inclement weather…

         “Rain,” Madras informs him, misinterpreting his pause as confusion.

         “Yes, I know.” He hums to himself then pushes back from the merchant. “Excuse me for a moment, Miss Madras. I’ll return in a moment.” He glides away, seeking out his partner in the depths of the House of Paint.

         RGB stands at the base of the stairs, leaning against a segment of wall free from shelves. His arms fold across his chest, fingers tapping at the crook of his elbow, and Magnus is pleased. The telly-head isn’t trying to hide behind them, nor is he using his posture as a means to shield himself. Anxious as he is, panic remains nonexistent.

         Magnus beams, literally, and flies forward. RGB glances up.

         “Oh? Finished alrea- _mmph!”_ The magician catches him by a wrist and tugs him forward, off-balance to tumble against his chest. The longing for a proper mouth flits across his thoughts as it prone to, but he lets it flutter away in favor of pursuing a more preferred course of action. Wishing for something he can never again have, after all, is futile.

         He dips his head, running the edge of his rightmost facet along RGB’s casing while his right hand slipping up to the top of his head, fingertips edging the raised bed of his antennae. His partner shudders deliciously against him, and his other hand steals across his back to band his hips, seizing and dragging the smaller monster up into their almost-not-quite kiss. Arms clad in blue and red fabric twine around his neck, a hand splaying over his backmost facet, fingers skimming the upper edge as if searching for hair to grip.

         They part, long moments later. RGB grins, dripping green, and Magnus nuzzles him, prism warm and shining with gold like sunlight.

         “Any particular reason why you kissed me silly?” RGB giggles, pleasantly woozy. Magnus taps him on the headboard, stroking up his antennae from base to capped tip and back down.

         “It’s raining,” he offers with a bright grin, lavishing special attention to the point where the bits of metal connect. RGB shudders again, rocking up onto his toes. “That’s all.”

         “I suppose that’s a perfectly acceptable reason,” the telly-head hums, color line rippling with each syllable, magenta spilling over his casing. Magnus kisses him for a second, longer amount of time.

         “If you two are done with your foreplay.” They jolt and glance back at the distant counter as one. Madras watches them with what might be amusement or annoyance, nails clicking any impatient rhythm. “Perhaps one of you would like to finish with my payment?”

         “Of course. Apologies!” Magnus replies brightly. He tweaks RGB’s antennae one last time, dodging his playful swipe and grinning at his chuckle, and returns to the merchant.

         Behind him, RGB returns to his daydreams, replacing the patter of rain with thoughts of kisses and lovely hands on his waist.

 

* * *

 

         The sanctuary judders under a mighty crashing, the flashes of lightning not long gone from the windows before thunder storms after it, droves of rain slashing at the windows, driven by the wind. The cacophony rouses Magnus from his work and he hurries from his study, flitting down the halls. RGB is likely curled somewhere, trying to maintain under the constant pressure of the dark skies and darker clouds. Rain he has learned to handle, but violent storms such as this…

         “Dear one?” he calls, peering into the library. Empty. The kitchen next, where he finds a cooling cup of tea. But it is empty as well, and he moves on to the parlor. Again, empty.

         A vague sense of dread creeps over his shoulders, and, without the comfort of his great coat, it weighs heavier than usual. He tips his head down in thought, heedless of the clouding in his prism. The chance of RGB leaving during the dismal weather is unlikely, and yet his preferred haunts are empty. Magnus entertains the thought of searching the sanctuary in its entirety for a moment before noting one of the doors leading outside ~~. It~~ is unlocked, which can only mean one thing.

         RGB glances up from his book when Magnus comes through the door, flicking an antennae up.

         “And he rises from the depths to grace us with his presence,” he teases, flipping to the next page. Beyond him, the rain gathers and drips from the edges of the overhang, and a number of mourning doves congregate under it for an impromptu shower. Magnus flickers with light, a gesture equivalent to a blink.

         “You came out here?” he queries. Something settles uncomfortably, like a cup balanced too close to the edge, ready to fall. “By yourself?” RGB whirs a sigh from his vents and nods, tucking a bookmark into his page.

         “Thought I might try. It wasn’t so bad when I first came out,” he admits, setting the book aside. Magnus nods absently, gaze falling to the swathe of black fabric wrapped around his partner’s broad shoulders.

         “My coat?” RGB toys with the upturned collar, offering a conciliatory smile.

         “I was going to see if I could bear to go out in it. But,” he shifts, as if restless, “the thunder started. I thought it best to remain here.”

         Magnus hums, drifting closer. His left foot finds the ground, weight easing down into toes, sole, heel, followed by the other. They carry him forward to his seated love, and the telly-head watches him as if daring him to make aloud what they both already know.

         “RGB.” He attempts to evade him with a huff, turning away, but Magnus’s reach is long enough to wrap around his shoulders before he can make an escape. The magician coaxes him closer, resting his hand over gloved knuckles. “You’re shaking.”

         “Which you ought to be used to by now.” Once captured, he huddles into the taller monster’s side, fingers curving into his vest. He pauses, watching the birds ruffled their wet feathers, and Magnus waits. “…I… I thought I was ready.”

         “It’s only been a few months since we started addressing your fears,” the prism-head reminds him. RGB scowls, resting the side of his head on his partner’s arm.

         “I wanted to be ready.”

         “You aren’t a light switch, my dear,” Magnus admonishes, tucking his coat around the smaller monster. He rubs a hand up and down his side as if he can wipe away the tremors like fog from glass. They taper off, accustomed to his touch. “These things take time.”

         “I know they do,” RGB fusses. “I just wish it wouldn’t take quite so _much…”_

         “Think about how far you’ve already come,” the magician urges, embracing him. “What would have said to me if, weeks ago, I insisted you would brave the rain by yourself?”

         “That the light had finally baked your brain,” RGB chuckles, green mixing with cyan.

         “And yet, here you are,” Magnus hums, waving an arm. He nuzzles into the telly-head’s space, thin arms twining around broad shoulders. A hand falls to his chest, but it doesn’t push him away. “I’m so very proud of you.”

         “Oh, honestly, my dear! You’re making a mountain out of a mole-hill,” RGB tsks, smiling faintly. He presses closer, relishing in the attention. Magnus is all too happy to provide more, beaming when RGB adjusts the coat to spread over the both of them in a makeshift blanket.

         “I love you,” the magician murmurs, prism flashing in tandem to a fork of lightning. The thunder shakes the sky over their heads in the following breath, the doves scattering with worried coos. When the noise passes, RGB’s steady fingers lace with his own. He is warm, they are together, and Magnus is deeply content.

         “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this gorgeous picture http://sohanna-the-doorstop.tumblr.com/post/115221895433/think-of-it-this-way-rgb-what-happens-after and written for its artist ^_^ I hope he likes it!


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